we miss you already

I wake in the dark as I do.  I stumble downstairs.  I turn this machine on, get to work several hours before my clients pull up at their own desks.  Trying to get ahead of the stories, the new drafts, the revised drafts, the rethinking, the queries, the revisioning back toward revisions.  I work, and then I stop.  I watch Steve Jobs talking, here on my screen.  Live each day as if it is your last.  Stay hungry.  Stay foolish.  I ask myself:  What do I really want to do with this hour?  This hour that, by rights, belongs to me.

I want, as I said yesterday, to read.  I want to stop banging so hard against this keyboard.  I want to be quiet and quietly led into the world of another's making.  I want magic.

I want, I realized, to go spend some time with Michael Ondaatje, who made me believe in the power of a certain kind of book.  Michael Ondaatje who, more than any other writer I have ever read, changed the way I think about books.  I am going to go download The Cat's Table now.  I will read for two hours, maybe three.  Not in this room.  Not at this desk.  My arms at rest.  My mind elsewhere.

Rest in peace, Steve Jobs.  Thank you, Steve Jobs.  I type these words into my Mac, the first computer brand I ever owned, the only computer brand I ever owned.  I'll go read on your iPad2.  I'll sit quietly with magic and think of you.

We're looking up at you.  We miss you already.